ic inbox.

[multiverse]

WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK

USERNAME:
PARISA

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[multiverse]

She's hot.

Trying to make me jealous?

[ghostface]

that depends. you into being tied up? you don't really strike me as the type.

( featured: the most polite way of implying that you totally think someone is a control freak. )

[multiverse]

I'm into everything, silly. But I can admit, I'm the one tying the knots most of the time.

Is that Jem?

[ghostface]

sure is.

( one more, while they're flirting, in video format, date unknown. )

gotta give the old man credit for the idea, though. i was just gonna send you a raunchy shot of my dick like a fuckin' normie.

[multiverse]

( dynamics are intriguing to parisa — who, in turn does the math. 1 + 1 = 2, and all that. danny, jem, house. may, may, december. it's not like she's going to pretend it isn't hot. )

I like the creativity. Are you with her right now? Can you give her an orgasm for me? Tell her I miss her pussy.

cw: somno implied, pseudo incest

[ghostface]

she's asleep. i'm just playing with her a little bit.

( using her ass cheek as a stress ball, more like, but he'll tuck his chubbed-up dick into bed soon enough. )

you know she's my sister?

cw: incest/underage

[multiverse]

No, I
didn't.

( impossible to avoid thinking about her own brother, amin. his thoughts developing as she developed, from twelve into a ripe thirteen year old. her pressing lingering kisses on the corner of her brother's mouth, to hint she might be on the same level as him, while secretly planning her escape. then — a rush job wedding to amin's best friend, one week a married woman, and an escape to france to start a new life, under a new name. parisa kamali was born, all because her brother couldn't keep it in his pants.

anyway — danny's not amin. she's not his sister. whatever she feels about him and jem, it's really none of her business. )

I fucked your sister. Hope that doesn't put a damper on things.

[ghostface]

i fuck my sister, too.

( hard to tell what she's thinking, or if she even believes him. most people aren't freaky like that when it comes to sibling on sibling incest or anything on anything incest, but then jem and danny don't look anything alike, do they? jem's his little lily white english rose. danny's all-american, all brown, all great basin indian red. mismatched puzzle pieces boiled at the edges to fit together seamlessly. )

hope that doesn't put a damper on things.

[multiverse]

It's not my business what you do with your sister, if she's into it.

( key difference: parisa was not into it. parisa loved her brother the way a sister should, and had to bury that love out back with a hatchet and a shovel. the ultimate lesson is that anything that loves parisa will eventually want to fuck her — it's better to fuck out the gate, and leave love to rot with the vultures. )

You guys have different parents, right? Your accents are different. And you're not white, obviously.

[ghostface]

i'm a little white, actually. i just ain't as white as her.

( he's what the deep rez kids call a haffer, back home. )

we got different mamas, yeah. but i think we got the same nose. (: and taste in girls.

[multiverse]

I see.

Oh, you. ( let it be said that parisa can be won over with any amount of flattery. anyway — she feels distantly annoyed at herself for getting even a little worked up about it. danny and his sinkhole brain have never struck parisa as exceedingly normal. you can't go poking around a viper and get mad when it bites you. like it's nothing: ) My older brother used to think about fucking me a lot when I was a kid, because I'm pretty. Not nice thoughts. It's not an issue, it just took me by surprise. All good.

[ghostface]

( immediately, like it's also nothing: ) did you kill him?

[multiverse]

No. I thought about it, though. A lot.

[ghostface]

that's how it started for me, too. just thinking about it. what'd you do instead?

[multiverse]

Let him think I wanted it. Then I married his best friend, exchanged marriage and sex for money to take me out of Iran, and started a new life in Paris. The end.

What about you?

[ghostface]

i stopped thinking about it.

( kneejerk, typed and sent before he can think too hard about it, as natural as blinking or breathing. that's not all he did, of course. killing has always been the climax, the final period at the end of a lengthy paragraph full of horror. he wants to tell her more, in explicit detail — not because it feels good to be honest, but because gnawing at skinny ankles to see who flinches first is another kneejerk habit stamped into his dna.

no one here knows what he is except his family. and louis, too. armand, maybe. luci, certainly, in shades. parisa? a little bit. probably more than she lets on. he craves revulsion like a good orgasm. )

first person i ever killed, actually. i was seventeen, fresh out of juvie.

[multiverse]

Was it kill or be killed?

( a very adolescent desire, to root around rocks in the high altitude hills of appalachia and think you actually have a chance at finding a fossil. just because she didn't kill her brother, doesn't mean parisa hasn't killed. it doesn't mean she's vehemently against killing, when she's seen the greasy inner workings of minds that would do the world a favor if they just shut up forever.

still, she thinks about callum's soft, empathetic voice convincing military ops to kindly turn their guns on themselves, the point of it buried in the futility of living at all. he did the same thing to parisa, who jumped off a building — she worries danny would do the same thing to her, and she might not make it out a second time. mentally speaking. )

Did they deserve it?

cw: patricide

[ghostface]

nah, though i used to wonder if that would've made it better. like, more right than not.

( more moral, more acceptable, had danny's father been awake instead of asleep the morning that danny decided to kill him. idle thoughts for a tiny seventeen-year-old brain, more child than man, self-appointed orphan missing his daddy the very second he stopped fucking breathing. )

but he deserved it.

[multiverse]

Was it memorable?

( telepathic curiosities — she can't go anywhere in danny's mind without rushing through a mesh strainer into darkness. she'd think he didn't have a memory, or was diseased by something flesh eating and thought stealing, if she wasn't talking to him now. )

[ghostface]

( danny buries a damp sigh into the naked slope of jem's shoulder, and then his spit-sloppy dick into her warm cunt, past his thumb pinning the soggy microscopic strip of lacy fabric that passes for her panties taut against her thigh, stark white like a bridal garter. )

sometimes when i really need to cum and can't for whatever reason, i think about his blood in my mouth and it rocks my shit every time.

have you ever killed anyone, parisa?

[multiverse]

Yes.
It's not the question you should be asking.

( she thinks about the exact amount of pressure it took to stab her jimmy choo heel through the cheek of a man who tried to kill her. parisa is not a fighter, really — not interested in an excessive amount of gore or violence. but. the sick moment of penetration, the compulsory and almost childish pop of someone's cheek giving way under 1k of designer heel, that second of satisfaction, of standing over someone and taking their life away because they had the audacity to think they could take yours —

well, parisa is addicted to the drug of power. she is five feet nothing of minuscule strength and little talent for violence, but she's always fought in her small, unimpressive ways to be free, safe, and strong. it's easy to say she killed someone, that they would've killed her first, that she was justified, that they had it coming.

what's more important: did you suck on his blood and cum to the memory of his pathetic death later? did you like it? )

[ghostface]

( multitasking isn't exactly difficult for danny, who is convinced his dick could find jem's cunt in pitch black, through a hundred million bodies, like a heat-seeking missile. he respositions them anyway: danny rolled halfway onto his back, jem cushioned on top of him, her throat caught in the lean v of his arm until he snags her bottom lip with his thumb, tucks inside to give her something to suck on as he fucks her, unhurried, lazy.

across the twin peaks of her firm little titties, he rests his wrist and the phone, screen glowing white, and blows her hair out of his face. a phone call would be a thousand times easier. he holds off. )

did it make you hot? did it turn you on? ( the real real question: ) do you hate that it turns you on?

[multiverse]

Yes.

( three questions all sharing the same answer, unfortunate as it might be. she wants to be better — she exist living in an air of unearned superiority, simply because it's what people expect from her. the truth is that she's worse, she doesn't morn her enemies, she doesn't feel empathy for devils, she isn't so disgusted by a murderer fucking his sister to not text him back. )

But we aren't the same.

[ghostface]

god forbid.

( a long lapse while he's distracted, texting fingers put to better use, lower between jem's wet thighs. after a while: )

but just 'cause you ain't me don't mean you ain't fucked up, too.

[multiverse]

( what if we just changed the subject! )

Why is your brain like a black hole? Did something happen to you?